Alfred's Shame
by Zifker
Summary: Italy and Germany discuss what happened at a meeting earlier in the day, and America visits a spot only he knows.


Feliciano shifted in his seat, reminding himself how much he hated bus rides with Ludwig. Almost everything else involving his Germany he adored, but the bus rides were different...

To start, Ludwig never spoke on the bus. Feliciano always had to be the conversation starter, and he never had a good idea what to talk about with his boyfriend. Ludwig always just sat there, reading his fashion magazines with a perfect poker face.

Secondly, the seats were so uncomfortable. Italy couldn't stop fidgeting in them no matter how hard he tried, or how aware of the extent to which it annoyed Germany.

So, the discomfort in his back and bum, combined with the awkward silence that he and Germany shared, finally pushed Italy to his breaking point. To keep from going insane, he would have to start _some_ kind of conversation, even if it meant annoying his lover in the least desirable way...

"Germany?"

"Yes, Italy" The blonde nation did not look up from his magazine.

"Why did America freak out at the meeting today?"

...by asking questions he knew the answers to.

As if on queue, Ludwig's face scrunched up in irritation.

"Feliciano, you know why. Your little brother was talking to Alfred and ended up insulting his mother somehow."

Now confident that the chat was going to last a bit, Italy brightened up.

"Oh, I remember now! Something about how Vatican made a 'Your Mom' joke! Wow, I can't believe Alfred threatened to cut his throat over such a thing. That's really not like him, is it?"

Germany sighed, setting his reading material on the empty seat next to him. He knew that he wasn't going to be able to use it for the rest of the trip.

"Ordinarily, no, it isn't common for Alfred to just snap like that. He makes death threats, sure, but he doesn't usually _mean_ them like he did today. I thought I would have to restrain him, the way he yelled at that poor child."

Feliciano began staring off into space the way he did when he was trying really hard to think.

"Yeah but WHY? Alfred overreacts, but not THAT much. I wonder why he can't take a simple little joke like that...?"

Ludwig dictated that an appropriate response to Italy's musings had to be divided in two parts, a facepalm of exasperation, and the actual response.

"Feliciano, How many times have I warned you before about Alfred's mother issues? The guy is unstable in that department. He has no tolerance for any disrespect towards her."

"I don't remember anything about you telling me why..." Italy lied.

"I don't really even know who America's mother _is..._"

"Was, Italy. Was."

_**ELSEWHERE**_

Alfred always had a hard time coming to this spot. On the small little hill somewhere in the heartland of his territory. Only he knew how to get there, anyone else would just get lost in the rolling plains. One tiny little hill out of all the rest, that to him was the most important. Because on this small hill was where he deemed it appropriate to place the grave of Alilu Shima. No matter how much time passed, or how many times he visited the spot, Alfred F. Jones always felt weak in the knees and teary in the eyes when he came here.

The five foot monument he created for Alilu was carved directly out of only the finest quality granite from New England, where they first met. At the base was a pedestal inclined on all sides, with her name in all the languages she used carved among several vine-like patterns in the stone. At the top, a beautiful carved angel in Alilu's exact likeness stood with six feathery wings extended, her face looking to the sky, her arms lifted slightly to the heavens. The angel stood at the top of what could be considered the actual headstone, where Alfred had left her monumental inscription in English.

UPON THIS SPOT RESTS THE TRUE OWNER OF THESE LANDS, THE ONE WHO FIRST SET FOOT HERE THOUSANDS OF YEARS AGO.

HER NAME IS ALILU SHIMA

MOTHER TO ONE, VICTIM TO MANY

BORN 21,776 BR - DIED 114 AR

And below the headstone, on the junction between the base and the inscription, five words stood out among her artistic depictions of eagles:

MURDERED BY HER OWN SON

Alfred collapsed to his knees, now barely able to hold back his tears. The bouquet he was carrying, of Western Trillium, Orange Hawkweed, Yellow Salsify, and Silky Phacelia slipped from his fingers, among the other gifts he regularly left at his mother's grave. Other assortments of her favorite flowers and foods, dice and poker chips, bundles of money, and several decks of playing cards.

After a few moments, Alfred finally decided to let himself cry. He missed her more than anything, even if she wasn't really good at being a mother. He sobbed uncontrollably over her grave, wanting nothing more than to see her again, to hear her again. He only wanted one chance to hug her to him as hard as he could and try to apologize for his crimes. He knew he would never get the chance, and bawled harder the more he thought about it.

After what seemed like hours, Alfred stood once more, facing the angelic carving.

"Mother, I know that you shouldn't forgive me for what I did to you. I know that I deserve to live with this shame and regret, but please, find it in your heart to forgive me. There is nothing I regret more than how I treated you. I promise you, I won't let anyone bring shame or insult to your name ever again. I'm so sorry..."

With that, he turned and left, his head hung, his hands balled into fists in his pockets, and a few last tears streaming from his eyes.

America knew that he could never leave enough gifts at this spot. Nothing could make up for what he did to her.

To his own mother, Alilu Shima, North America.


End file.
